


Two Halves Of A Whole Idiot

by Izupie



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: (or tent in this case), Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Cuddling & Snuggling, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, F/M, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), and there was only one bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:35:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26823010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Izupie/pseuds/Izupie
Summary: It's been over a year since It was finally defeated, and the Losers Club have been reunited for one last camping night at Mike's Farm. The only problem? Eddie's having an internal crisis because he's very much in love with his best friend, and what do you mean there's not enough tents??
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris
Comments: 18
Kudos: 173
Collections: It fandom prompts Fall 2020 Gift Exchange





	Two Halves Of A Whole Idiot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mseg_21](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mseg_21/gifts).



> I got really into this fic. Like, 8,000 words into it. I really really hope you like it !! I worked crazy hard on it, and I had a blast. I am aaaalways down to write There Was Only One Bed. Then it spiralled out of control ahaha.  
> Thanks for being my giftee!! This fandom is amazing~

“Here comes the booze!” Richie whoops, hands cupped around his mouth. “Knew there’d be an upside to you inviting us all back to the murder town, Mikey. Glad I came now.”

Richie leans forwards in his fabric camping chair, looking too big for it with his knees up high and his elbows tucked in. It creaks dangerously whenever he moves. Eddie would like to think that the reason he can’t stop looking over is because he’s worried the thing will collapse with Richie still sitting in it. (But he knows it’s not.)

“You’re literally the one that sent me a message saying there’s no way you were going back to Derry, like, as soon as you got off the phone to Mike. He hadn’t even called me yet. I had no idea what you were talking about – do you know what I first thought when I got that message?” Eddie frowns as he talks, and at Richie’s unapologetic grin his frown intensifies.

“Uh, probably the same thing I thought. Mike’s inviting us back to Derry to get murdered for real this time.”

“Wow, thanks Richie.” Mike laughs as he hands around bottles of beer, one to each of them sitting around the campfire, but the laugh sounds a little embarrassed. “I love that you all bring this up whenever we get together.” Mike sits back into his camping chair with a heavy creak.

He looks too big for his chair too.

Firelight bounces off them all in the darkness and casts stark shadows between them, in the spaces that the light doesn’t reach. But there’s a different kind of lightness in the group now; and shadows can never touch that. The wood crackles and pops from time to time, and Eddie knows he’ll smell the smoke in his clothes and hair until he’s next able to get a shower.

“Ignore them, Mike,” Bill says heartily. “We’re all really glad you invited us here. It’s nice to come back to somewhere we all l-l-luh-loved. Despite the town it’s in.”

“Well, Mike’s farm is just on the edge of it, I guess,” Ben adds, as he takes the bottle opener Bev hands to him. “If that makes anyone feel better.” He slips the top off his beer, jumping slightly as it hisses, and he raises it to his lips to capture the escaping liquid. Bev snorts with amusement as he wipes the bubbles from his carefully maintained stubble and leans over the arm of her chair to kiss him on the cheek.

Is that a blush on Ben’s cheeks? They’ve been going steady almost the whole year since they’d… been in Derry last, and he could still blush at her attention? He really is a romantic. Eddie feels like he should look away and give them some privacy or something, but he finds himself looking over at Richie instead (because that’s where his eyes always seem to want to fucking go) and he’s looking over at Ben and Bev too. His eyes seem kind of melancholy behind the glow of the fire reflecting on his glasses. And that’s just… _wrong_ somehow. Richie should always be smiling. Always be laughing. Eddie doesn’t even realise he’s staring until Richie’s gaze flicks over and he whips his head in another direction at being caught.

Why the fuck does he feel like he’s been caught?

There shouldn’t be a problem with looking over at Richie, since he’s his best friend and everything, and it’s fine if he’s looking over at one of his friends, and oh Jesus his fucking camping chair is creaking dangerously again, why’d he have to go and grow so tall? ( _So big_ , his traitorous mind supplies). He’s probably going to make it collapse if he doesn’t stop fidgeting about so much. Eddie remembers the two of them squashed into a too-small hammock, and how he’d yell at him for nearly flipping them both out of it with how much his leg would bounce. They’d fit in there so snugly together, sharing comic books and talking shit about school and living in Derry, and despite how much Eddie used to complain about the lack of personal space when he shared it with Richie, it was never the same if he had to sit in there alone. Eddie distinctly remembers, with a touch of self-aware embarrassment, being a little shit to him if they were both in the hammock and Richie wasn’t paying him enough attention. The amount of times he hooked his glasses over his feet and flicked them off just to be provocative…

_Look at me._

_Pay attention to me._

_Love me._

Eddie stares at the campfire intensely.

“That does make it better actually, Ben,” Bev sighs eventually. “I swore I’d never set foot in that hellhole ever again. This farm is as far as I’ll ever go back.”

“Preach,” Richie yells, pumping his fist in the air. Bill hands him the bottle opener, which he accepts with a loud, strangely accented, “ _Cheers pal!”_. Eddie has no idea what Voice it was supposed to have been, but it makes him smile a little all the same.

“Passing around the bottle opener feels a little nostalgic, huh?” Bev says with amusement, though she’s rubbing her bare arms as she speaks. Ben shrugs out of his jacket, climbs out of his chair and drapes it gently over Bev’s shoulders. He kisses her hair as he goes, and she pulls it tight around herself with a smile.

_“Oh my stars, chivalrous Ben,”_ Richie continues, in the same Voice he used at Bill. “Actually, I think I’m cold too.” He shivers theatrically and looks pointedly over at Eddie.

“What?”

At Eddie’s blank look Richie grins in amusement. “Well if you don’t know the next line, you could at least actually offer me your jacket.”

“Wh- no- why would I give you my jacket? You should have brought your own. It’s not my fault you’re not dressed for Derry weather, Richie.”

“Aw, Eds, you were so close.” He gestures around the circle with his beer, pointing at their confused faces accusingly with the bottle. “The ‘I’m cold’ meme? ‘I don’t control the weather’? Do none of you losers use the internet?”

“The what now?” Mike chuckles.

Bill rolls his eyes. “Don’t you know? Richie’s hip and d-down with the kids.”

“I hope your manager doesn’t let you use your social media pages unsupervised, Rich,” Bev adds.

“Are you kidding? Do you know how many times I would have been fired if I had my own access to those things?” Richie leans back and his chair creaks loudly again. “Fuck! Fucking chair,” he yelps, startled.

Everyone chuckles and Bev tilts her head back as she laughs; her hair catches the light from the campfire and almost looks like it’s ablaze too. It’s the same colour as the shirt Richie is wearing. He’s sitting opposite from Eddie, in an obnoxiously loud orange button-down, and while he’s not been close enough to tell for sure yet, Eddie thinks there are tiny sombrero hats all over it.

None of the Losers have really seen each other much since… the clown thing… while they’ve all been busy getting their shit together, getting divorces and just generally rebuilding their lives. But each time they’ve met up Richie has been wearing a clashingly bright shirt with a tacky pattern on it. It’s a far cry from the almost tame yellow shirt he’d worn when they’d all met at the Jade, and Eddie’s glad of it. It feels more ‘Richie’. Like he’s more himself again or something.

“So,” Mike begins, “I know I was a little vague with why I called you all back here, but I’m really glad you all came anyway.” His voice is soft, but it brings Eddie’s attention back to the group.

“Of course, Mike.”

“You know we’re always here for ya, Mikey.”

“You know you can call us for anything. W-Wuh-We’re all here for each other now.”

“We love you Mike.”

“Always, man.”

“It just… it really means a lot, after… everything.” Mike looks up and locks eyes with everyone around the campfire in turn. Eddie is suddenly reminded of standing in a circle with these same people, his best friends in the whole world, in a dank cave full of fear and death. He shudders at the memory and can’t help reaching up to rest a hand over his chest.

Mike catches the movement and looks down at the bottle of beer in his hands. There are sad furrows in the lines in his face, shadowed by the flickering flames. It was always tough to see Mike upset when they were kids, because he was always the optimist in their group, so sure and steady and mature.

“Mike,” Eddie says, “it’s okay. We’re all okay.” And what he really means is: the stab wound in my chest magically closed, so I’m still alive, and I don’t hold it against you that I nearly died because I did it to save Richie – to save all of you – and I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

Mike’s eyes go glassy and he smiles. “It’s been over a year since we fought It… and won, and it just makes me so happy and proud to have you all back in my life.”

Agreement passes around the group and Eddie can’t believe he lived without them all for so long, because he looks back on the last twenty-seven years and it’s like he was missing something vital about himself. Like he’d been living with just a fraction of his heart this whole time. (He really needs to stop looking at Richie when he thinks of sappy stuff like that.) (He looks back at the fire.)

“There’s just one person missing-” Mike continues.

“Yeah,” Richie snorts, gesturing grandly across the fire, “Eddie’s mom.”

“Fuck you!” Eddie retorts immediately, his attention snapping back up to the idiot grinning opposite him. God, he’d missed this without even knowing he’d been missing it.

“Guys,” Ben says softly.

“Sorry Ben, I just, never got to say my goodbyes and I wish she was here.”

“You’re really still going with this? She’s dead you insensitive asshole. How old are you- twelve?”

“I was when we-”

“Do not fucking finish that sentence.”

“Ew, Richie,” Bev snorts. Mike’s laughing too.

Ben shakes his head, but Eddie can see him smiling. “Beep beep, Richie.”

Bill covers his grin with his beer bottle and takes a swig before he puts on a straight face and says, almost like a real adult, “Mike’s trying to have a serious conversation and you t-two can’t stop pulling each other’s pigtails for like, five whole m-muh-minutes.”

“Hey, remember when we were trying to help Mike with his chores one day and Richie kept shoving hay down the back of Eddie’s shirt?” Ben says, brightening at the sudden memory.

It was like that sometimes – a memory would just pop in out of nowhere like a radio tuning into the correct frequency.

Eddie pulls a face and glares at Richie across the fire. “Yeah,” he says slowly as the memory solidifies in his mind, “I do remember that. You were such a little shit.”

Richie laughs so hard, snorting and slapping his knee, that his chair nearly falls backwards with the force of his whole body shaking. (Eddie has to resist the compulsion to laugh along with him that he always has when he’s like this.) “You,” he manages between uncontrollable giggles, “oh my god- you screeched- so loudly, man.”

“It’s not fucking funny! I could have got a rash, I could have had an allergic reaction, or- or there could have been bugs or fucking farmyard parasites in there-”

“There were definitely no parasites in any of my grandpa’s hay, thank you.”

Richie wipes tears from his eyes with his free hand. “That’s what you both even _said_.”

“Oh my god, I remember,” Bev says, “wait, didn’t you stuff your own shirt full of hay and then run after Eddie demanding a hug?”

“Oh shit, you did!” Eddie can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of him then, as he almost sees the memory; Richie on this exact farm so many years ago, shirt stuffed so full of hay that it was poking out of his arm and neck holes, leaking and flying into the air as he ran with his arms outstretched. ‘Hug me!’ tiny, gangly Richie yelled, ‘I’m dying and I need a spaghetti hug! The hay parasites have got me!’, while he was screaming, ‘No! Fuck off Richie!’, in a highly-strung screeching voice that hadn’t even broken yet, running faster than anyone with ‘asthma’ had any right to.

Eddie laughs long and loud at the memory, almost able to feel the summer sun on his skin and the exhilaration he’d felt swooping in his stomach to just be free and running around with his friends.

When he looks back over at Richie, he’s staring straight at him with wide eyes. Are… Are the tops of his cheeks red? Or maybe it’s just the heat from the fire?

Bill shoots a knowing look over at Richie. “And w-what happened to you later, Rich? After you’d told Eddie he was paranoid about the hay and chased him around the farm. What happened to your skin?”

Richie takes a too-casual sip of his beer and shakes his head wildly; whatever spell came over him seeming to break. (His fluffy curls bounce when he shakes his head like that, and Eddie tries not to look mesmerised by them.) “Nothing, that’s what!”

“Ohoho, Richie, did someone actually get a rash?” Bev asks slyly.

“No, of course not. I’ll tell you what actually happened - there was a radioactive parasite in that hay, and it bit me, and since that day I’ve been living a tragic double life as Parasite-Man.”

“There were never parasites in my grandpa’s hay,” Mike says again.

“ _That’s_ what you took from that?” Eddie gestures sharply towards Richie, who’s now cackling with laughter again. “I can’t believe you actually got a rash and didn’t tell me.”

“Yeah, because I didn’t want to hear the ‘I told you so,’” Richie raises his voice into something resembling a young Eddie – high-pitched and whiny – and Eddie smiles despite himself. His impressions _are_ good, and he’d always had a weakness for them. “You’d have said something like, ‘I told you and you wouldn’t listen, and now you’re all red and blotchy and itchy, that’s what you get for not listening to me, asshole.’”

“Just like him,” Bev snorts.

“No,” Eddie says, “I mean, why didn’t you tell me, and I could have helped. Do you know how many lotions I had for itchy skin?”

“And you’d have, what, rubbed it in for me, Doctor K?”

“Yeah, for you.”

_Ah, shit._

Eddie immediately wants the ground to open up beneath him, horrified at the absolute fucking aching _sincerity_ that came out in those three words, while Richie is apparently stunned speechless for once as his mouth works soundlessly open and closed a few times.

He blames the half a bottle of beer he’s sipped for how easily that tumbled out of his lips. (And heart. Fuck.)

Eddie can’t even look at the others.

_Why is nobody saying anything?_

The rumble of a car’s engine breaks the silence and atmosphere as a sensible looking grey car pulls up near where the rest of them are parked near the campfire. The engine cuts off, casting them back into silence.

“Stan!” Mike exclaims, jumping to his feet.

Surprise ripples around the group as Stan himself climbs out of the car. He’s wearing a thick coat (sensible, Eddie notes, like himself) and his glasses shine with firelight as he makes his way over.

“Stan the man!” Richie crows, looking more himself again, lifting his beer bottle into the air.

“I thought you had to look after the baby?” Bev gasps, as she gets up and pulls Stan into a hug.

He looks about as comfortable hugging anyone as he did when they were kids – stiff armed and ramrod straight. “I was surprised too. Patty wrapped up her work meetings as quick as she could, so she was able to catch an earlier flight home.” Stan throws a small quirk of his lips to the rest of the group over Bev’s head. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Patty is my hero!” Richie yells as he jumps up too and joins the hug.

Stan rolls his eyes, and his posture remains mostly the same, but his expression looks soft and open. “She’s mine too,” he says, and Eddie cringes to hear the same raw affectionate tone in those three words as he’d heard in his own ‘yeah, for you’. How could he have let himself be so obvious?

“We’re so glad you m-m-made it, Stan. You’ve got to keep Richie and Eddie in l-luh-line now. Please.” Bill heaves himself out of his chair and wraps his arms around Bev and Richie.

“C’mon, guys, the group hug won’t hug itself,” Richie says with a chuckle, motioning with one hand for the others to join in.

“Is this what we do now? Are we group hug people?” Stan sighs.

“Accept your fate Stanley.”

Mike jumps in and Bev giggles with delight when he squeezes them all tightly. “A real reunion!”

Ben looks over at Eddie and shrugs with a look that reminds him of the time he gifted them all the clubhouse, like he was the luckiest person in the world to be here with them all, sharing whatever he could with them. Now it’s hugs.

Richie whoops when Ben joins in, and Stan complains about needing air.

“Spaghetti! Get in here!”

“Not my name,” Eddie says automatically, as he rises out of his chair, places his beer bottle on the grass and walks over to them.

When he gets close enough Richie reaches out of the group to grab his arm and pull him in. Eddie’s heart lurches as he fits in against Richie’s side, very aware of their height difference. He fits there so snugly, and the others are holding each other so tightly that Eddie just lets himself give in to the chance to be close to him like this. Richie feels warm, despite what he was saying about needing a jacket (did he even need one in the first place? Or did he just want Eddie’s jacket? Maybe he was just doing it for the joke?) and he smells unbelievably reminiscent of how he did when they were kids sharing the hammock, but _more_ somehow. Just Richie.

Eddie closes his eyes and presses himself a little closer to Richie’s side, since it’s a group hug and nobody will notice. He’s so big, but so soft. Eddie realises he’s maybe nestled in a bit too closely and he’s a second away from just nuzzling into his side, so he’s about to pull away, when Richie’s arm moves from where it’s placed innocently around his shoulders to glide hesitantly down his back and rest on his waist instead, holding him there. Eddie’s eyes snap open and he glances across, but Richie’s eyes are closed. His hand on his waist feels like fire, tingling something warm all the way down his spine. He has to try even harder to resist the urge to snuggle in.

All too soon the group breaks apart and they all pull away from each other, but everyone is smiling.

Eddie tries to catch Richie’s attention, but he seems to be deliberately looking everywhere but at him. _Did that really just happen? Was it an accident? Just somewhere more comfortable for his arm to rest?_ Eddie’s thoughts are firing more rapidly than he can pay any attention to, watching as Richie takes his seat again.

“Next time remind me to stay at home,” Stan grouses, straightening his jacket and pushing some of his curly hair away from his face.

“You don’t m-mean that,” Bill says with a grin, as they all take their places by the fire again.

Stan says nothing, but a soft smile tugs at his lips and reminds Eddie of how sensitive he was when they were kids; smiling tenderly with bandages wrapped all the way around his face.

“Hey, wait, let me get the spare chair. I brought it just in case.” Mike goes to his beaten-up pickup truck and reaches into the back, pulling out another camping chair that he opens and places in the circle for Stan.

“Well that’s disappointing, I thought Stan might have to sit on my lap,” Richie says, with a pat of his hands on his lap and an overly exaggerated wiggle of his eyebrows.

“I’d rather sit on the ground, Trashmouth.”

“Oh, I love Stan’s one liners.” Bev blows a kiss over at him.

“Besides, that chair is definitely going to collapse if you add any more weight to it,” Eddie chimes in, trying not to sound breathless.

Richie raises his hand in the air. “Mike, Mike, I’m being bullied.”

Mike ignores him and goes back to his truck, returning with a non-alcoholic bottle of soda for Stan, handing it over with a smile. “Brought this in case you managed to make it too.”

“Thanks, Mike.”

When Mike finally takes his seat again, he completes the circle of seven – and it’s amazing how comfortable it feels. They’d been meeting in small groups and video calling the others that couldn’t make it for an entire year, so they hadn’t all been properly together like this since… It.

(Stan had been late to the Jade too that time. Maybe he had a habit of showing up at the last minute to be dramatic.)

Eddie only hopes that now their lives are taking on a more positive turn they can see each other more regularly. He takes another swig of beer and looks across at Richie from beneath his lashes.

He hopes so.

“Well, now that we’re all finally here, I wanted to tell you why I invited you all tonight.” Mike looks at them all again in turn and Eddie really wishes he wouldn’t do that – it’s like he can see inside their soul or something. Mike was always so observant and kind, though, so maybe he wouldn’t mind what he sees if he really could. Eddie thinks that probably none of them would, and it’s himself who has the problem with being too introspective.

“Go for it, Mike,” Ben says gently.

Mike smiles. “As I was saying before, it’s been a year since we fought It-”

“We crushed that things fuckin’ heart, man!”

“Yeah we did!” Bev lurches forwards and clinks her beer bottle to Richie’s.

A sombre expression shadows across Bill’s face. “Only b-buh-b-because Eddie told us how we could win.”

“And that was only after he threw a spear into It’s throat,” Stan adds with a proud tilt of his head in his direction.

Eddie knows he’s blushing even in the tips of his ears. “Okay, okay,” he says, fighting a smile and feeling a phantom burning in the scar on his chest. Magic can apparently bring you back to life and heal gaping chest wounds, but even then, you’ll be left with a scar apparently. And magic didn’t even heal the wound on his cheek, that had to scar over the old-fashioned way.

“I think I’ll be able to hear that choking noise forever,” Ben continues, grimacing. “And the sound of Richie slamming to the ground from the Deadlights.”

Richie cringes. “Yeah, my _back’s_ gonna be feeling that one forever.”

“But the way Eddie got you straight out,” Ben adds with a shake of his head, unaware that Eddie’s eyes have widened. “I mean, it’s just something straight out a story and I still can’t believe it worked twice – true love’s ki-”

Eddie nearly chokes with the force of the pretend cough that he hacks out. _No no no no, oh my god stop!_

Ben looks between Eddie choking and hacking and the confused tilt of Richie’s eyebrows before he slams his hands over his mouth. He leans towards Eddie, his face twisted in an unspoken apology, and whispers, “You didn’t tell him?”, but it’s loud enough for the whole group to hear him anyway.

Eddie’s heart is hammering inside his chest so hard it nearly hurts, and he can hear a curious rushing sound in his ears. _Of course he hasn’t fucking told him!_ How was he ever supposed to bring up that he _kissed him?_ Just video call him one day like, ‘oh hey, Rich, so funny thing, I kissed you to get you out of the Deadlights because I know it worked with Ben and Bev when we were kids and I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind since, because I’m really in love with you and I have been since we were thirteen’.

It was only a small kiss. He’d just seen Richie with that same glassy-eyed look that Bev had had, and he’d gone for it. He hadn’t even hesitated. When Richie finally opened his eyes, he was so dazed and out of it that Eddie just, didn’t tell him. He didn’t know that anyone else had seen.

But it was like his desperation for Richie to _please be okay_ and the whole _kiss_ thing had just broken the dam on all the feelings he’d had for his best friend when they were kids, that he’d desperately (and mostly successfully) pushed deep down after his childhood memories were unlocked after Mike’s call. He knew he was fighting a losing battle from the moment he saw Richie again at the Jade of the Orient.

He’d never realised he was gay when he was a child, between a mixture of repression and obliviousness, and then Derry’s messed up magic made him forget all of that anyway.

One look was all it took for it to come flooding back and everything just kind of, clicked into place – _Oh, right, yes, the person I’ve been in love with since before I even knew what love was._

_Fuck._

“I- You- Uh- You keep getting rudely interrupted Mike,” Eddie rushes out, knowing his voice sounds thin and desperate, “please, go on.” Is he hyperventilating? He feels like he’s hyperventilating.

He definitely can’t look at Richie now.

Mike pauses for a second but must notice the desperation in Eddie’s voice and face, because he barrels on again with, “Uh, yeah, I um- I just wanted to let you all know that I’m selling the farm.”

That successfully drags the attention from Eddie and he’s so grateful that he can feel himself take the first proper breath he’s had since he started coughing. For a horrifying moment there he’d wanted his inhaler.

“What? Ser-Seriously, Mikey?” Bill asks, leaning forwards.

“Yeah, it’s been on my mind for a while now.” Mike smiles, but it’s a little sad at the edges. “It’s just taken this long to get all the legalities sorted out. My solicitor told me the land’s getting developed into housing by the new owner, so everything you see here” – Mike opens his arms wide and gestures across the fields – “it’s all gonna be gone this time next year. I really wanted to get you all here one last time, especially now it’s been over a year since It. Feels like a real goodbye this time, but to something we had good memories of.”

There’s a chorus of agreements.

“Y’know I’m actually… I’m actually going be sad to see this place go.”

“Us t-t-too,” Bill agrees.

“I’m using the money to go travelling.” There’s a twinkle in Mike’s eyes when he adds, “Maybe go to Florida.”

“Good for you, Mike!” Ben holds up his beer bottle in a toast and the rest of them join him:

“To new beginnings!” Bill yells.

“To old friends!” Bev hollers, raising her bottle even higher. “And getting a divorce!”

Eddie scoffs as she looks pointedly over at him. “To getting a divorce!” he echoes with a roll of his eyes.

“To one last night on Mike’s farm!” Richie raises his bottle too and even gets to his feet. “And it being over a year since we all defeated a child murdering space clown! To therapy!”

Stan dips his head and raises his soda bottle high. “To therapy,” he agrees, “and to being who you want to be. To being proud-”

(Eddie’s sure he didn’t just imagine Stan’s sharp gaze flicking from Richie to him.)

“-and brave. To standing up for what you believe in.”

Eddie chews his bottom lip and feels something churning deep in his gut at Stan’s speech. Kind of like the feeling he got when he gave himself the pep-talk before throwing the fence post.

_Be proud. Be brave. Stand up for what you believe in._

Stan smiles at the cheers from the others. “We’re Losers,” he says with gravity, “and we always will be.”

“Stan the man! Droppin’ mics since the 80’s!” Richie hollers.

Eddie’s not sure who starts clapping but soon they’re all cheering and applauding each other and laughing and he’s never felt such a deep connection of love and belonging to a group of people in his entire life. He looks over at Richie, who is trying to wipe his eyes conspicuously between his laughter, and that feeling somehow intensifies even further. He feels like he could burst into flames like the campfire still blazing between them all.

He loves them so much.

He _loves Richie_ so much _._

He never fucking stopped loving Richie.

Eddie breathes in deeply and pinches the bridge of his nose.

He feels better now that he’s at least addressed the issue he’s been trying to push deep, deep down for so long, but now he’s faced with the terrifying prospect of having to be best friends with the person he’s in love with. And knowing it. Also, he kind of kissed him and he has no idea. Or he might have figured it out after Ben’s slip up. The only way Eddie knows he can successfully get through the rest of the night without losing his mind is to make sure he’s never alone with Richie. With at least any of the other Losers around he could avoid having to answer any awkward questions and that was a problem for Future Eddie to deal with. Or to run away from forever, whatever.

\----------

By the time everyone’s sipped the remaining dregs of their bottles of beer, Richie has thoroughly complained about Mike only bringing them one each, and they’ve chatted and laughed and reminisced, the fire has almost completely burned down. Mike slaps his knees as he gets to his feet.

“Alright then. Tent time I think.”

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says, “did you say _tents?”_

Richie snorts. “C’mon, Eds, you didn’t think we’d be sleeping on the floor, did you?”

He swipes a hand through the air. “Excuse me for thinking we were going to be staying in somewhere that actually has, y’know, _beds_ and _plumbing_.”

Mike laughs heartily and points his thumb towards an old building. “There’s a sink in the barn over there. But we’re getting the full farm camping experience tonight, just like when we were kids. I brought the tents and the sleeping bags.” He goes to the same truck that he got Stan’s chair from, but he rummages around and swears.

“What’s up? Everything okay?” Bill shifts forwards in his seat, peering over.

“Yeah, no problem, but, uh, when I packed just in case Stan could make it, I put the extra chair in, but I forgot the extra tent.” Mike heaves a sigh. “I had one for Ben and Bev to share, one for me and Bill to share and then I got a tent each for Richie and Eddie because I guessed Eddie would want one of his own.”

“You guessed correctly!” Eddie supplies, growing uneasy at the math this is creating in his head. _Oh, no._

“So,” Mike continues, “now Stan’s here that means two of you will have to share.”

“I don’t share,” Stan shoots, almost immediately after Mike’s finished speaking. His tone is sharp and leaves no room for argument.

“I don’t either!”

“Oh, come on, Eddie, you two used to share all the time when we were kids.” Bev rolls her eyes and smiles.

“Well, I don’t share now! I want my own tent.” He’s aware that he sounds like a petulant child, but he’s panicking and there’s no way he can share a tiny, one-roomed tent with Richie, with just sleeping bags between them after everything that’s happened this evening.

He chances a glance at Richie and the hurt that flashes across his face feels like a physical punch to the gut.

“Fine. Nobody wants to share with the Trashmouth, I get it.” He raises a hand to his chest, like he’s been wounded, and his voice is high-pitched and overly dramatic, but Eddie can see through the bullshit.

“Fuck- no- that’s- that’s not why- ugh, fine, I’ll share with Richie.” Eddie runs an agitated hand through his hair. “But you better not make a comment about my pyjamas or I swear-”

“ _Ooh la la,_ Eds, pyjamas?” Richie giggles.

Any traces of the hurt and vulnerability on Richie’s face are gone, but Eddie knows what he saw, and he feels awful about it. He doesn’t want to share with Richie because he _loves_ him, and this whole thing is way too complicated to be that close to him, not for whatever reason he’s come up with. When they were kids, Eddie would have fought anyone that tried to take his place beside Richie at sleepovers or when they were camping like this. Admittedly at the time he didn’t know _why_ he was so attuned to Richie in particular, or was so desperate to have his attention, but he did know that they were best friends and that he loved him in that way (even if he didn’t realise he loved him in the other way too).

Putting the tents up is less of an ordeal than Eddie expected, since they’re only one-roomed, and they’ve got Mike who’s experience with tents is unmatched, and Ben who could probably build anything he was given. Eddie can’t help the pool of dread settling in his stomach though, hoping that Richie somehow won’t have picked up on what Ben said earlier.

Eddie’s really only putting off the inevitable when he goes to the barn Mike pointed out earlier, finding a cord for a single bare light bulb above the ‘sink’ – which is really just a metal basin and one tap that dispenses cold water only. He considers splashing his face with some water, all hopes of cleaning his teeth now abandoned, but…

“You’re not hearing voices coming out of there are you?” Richie says from the doorway of the barn.

Eddie jumps and only just about manages to resist throwing his toiletries bag at his stupid (handsome) grinning face.

“Sorry,” Richie snorts, “too soon?”

“I shouldn’t expect any less from the person who was joking about the clown while we were actively being hunted by it.”

“I still stand by that being a good impression.” He hunches his shoulders and goes to swing his arms, but Eddie narrows his eyes and inhales sharply.

“Really?”

“Man, nobody is ever going to appreciate that impression – I can’t even use it in my stand-up, ‘cause the audience aren’t going to get it.”

Eddie knows that Richie covers up his nerves with humour. He has known this almost as long as he’s known him. And that the way his hands stayed so firmly jammed in his leather jacket back then was because he had gone even further than nervous – he had been scared.

Right now, Richie’s hands are shoved deep in the pockets of his jeans. (As far in as they’ll go anyway.)

_What’s he scared of?_

Richie leans over and investigates the sink; the bottom is rusty, there’s a cobweb in the corner, and the tap drips every so often, providing a steady clunking sound to the low murmurs of their friends outside. He hums loudly and grins. “Not up to your usual standard, Eddie?”

Eddie shoves him with an arm and smiles back. “Shut up, asshole, even you wouldn’t use this. Probably give you Cholera or some shit.”

Richie chuckles and readjusts his glasses. “I don’t know, dude, you should have seen some of the bathrooms I had to use when I first got into stand-up. Some of the grimiest bars you’ve ever seen in your life, barely a stage, one bulb lighting you up, and backstage is just the alley out the door. You’d have nightmares about them for the rest of your life.”

“There’s so much bacteria in contaminated water Richie, please tell me you didn’t use them. Have you never heard of E. coli or- or Typhoid or, I don’t know, fucking Dysentery? That shit can mess you up for life if you don’t get it treated right.” Eddie’s entire body shudders as if on cue and Richie holds his stomach at the force of the laughter that he barks out.

“Oh, Spaghetti, please never change.”

“Oh my god why do you still enjoy grossing me out, you’re the fucking worst!”

“Hey, guys! Can you keep it down, some of us want to sleep!” Bev’s voice reaches them from her and Ben’s tent.

“I’ll remind you of that when I hear suspicious rustling noises in the middle of the night, Marsh!”

“Beep beep Richie!” Stan shouts, from his own tent.

“Thanks, Stan!” Ben yells.

Eddie ducks his head down as he decides to give the sink a miss, but as he leaves the barn Richie follows him. Did he come over just to talk?

When they reach the tent (was it always this small? Are they really both going to fit?) Richie motions for Eddie to go in first. “Age before beauty,” he says.

Eddie flips him off as he leans down and enters the tent. Richie snorts a laugh.

It’s dark inside the fabric that’s cutting off the stars and moonlight, but Eddie can see that there are two sleeping bags laid out virtually side by side. He feels his heart sink, but he sucks in a deep breath and climbs inside the one he chooses. It’s only as he shimmies himself right down into it that he realises this is the way they’d lie when they were kids. Richie on the left, Eddie on the right.

The thought makes him smile. Old habits die hard even when they’ve been forgotten?

Richie enters the tent and Eddie shuts his eyes and turns onto his side. Facing away from him. There are rustling noises while Richie curses a couple of times and Eddie realises he hasn’t even gotten into the sleeping bag yet.

“What are you doing?” he hisses, turning back around. It’s virtually impossible to see anything but silhouetted against the faint light of the night sky outside the tent is clearly Richie’s naked torso. He’s hopping on one leg, bent over at the waist so that he doesn’t hit his head on the roof of the fabric.

“Trying to,” he says as he struggles, “fuck- this tent is small- take my clothes off to sleep.”

Eddie impossibly feels his face get progressively warmer as he hears confirmation of what he suspected. “Are you kidding? You’ll freeze!”

“Nah, I’ll be fine. Besides, we can always cuddle if it gets too cold.”

Eddie knows that was phrased like a joke, knows it _is_ a joke, but it strikes something in his chest that almost takes his breath away.

_Don’t imagine it. Don’t imagine it._

Richie finally throws something to the tiny space they have at the feet of the sleeping bags, his clothes Eddie guesses, and climbs in. His elbow hits his back a couple of times as he shuffles down, and the sleeping bag rustles noisily as he shifts around.

He’s so close beside him. If they faced each other, their faces would be only a few inches apart. Eddie screws his eyes shut, willing himself to stop thinking about it. One hopelessly in love kiss was enough, he’d have to live with that.

Finally, Richie settles.

Eddie breathes a sigh of relief and starts to get undressed inside his sleeping bag – which sounded like a great idea in his head but isn’t working out very well. He can’t get his polo shirt to come up in the narrow space. He struggles and shimmies and huffs, but now he’s a bit stuck. He accidentally kicks Richie while he’s trying to untangle himself and he hears Richie snorting barely concealed laughter.

“What?” Eddie snaps.

“What are you doing, man?”

“I’m getting dressed into my pyjamas, what does it sound like, dickwad?”

“Like you’re doing the macarena inside your sleeping bag,” Richie replies, a smile clear in his voice.

Eddie groans. “It’s not as easy as it sounds, okay?”

“Wait, are you stuck?”

“No,” Eddie hisses.

“Look, I don’t have my glasses on, and it’s pitch black anyway, just stand up and get dressed. I’ll even cover my eyes.”

Eddie looks over and he can see a faint outline of Richie in the dark – just a big Richie shaped lump in his sleeping bag. He looks like he’s covering his eyes with both hands. Affection warms Eddie’s chest. He tries to pull himself out, but he’s still stuck, and the shirt won’t budge. He wriggles, but it’s not working. After a moment Eddie sighs deeply through his nose. “Okay,” he admits, “I’m stuck. Do you… think you can help?”

The sudden sharp rustle sounds like Richie jumps over to reach his glasses. “Yeah, uh- no problem. It’s pretty dark though, so I uh… I might not be much help. Oh, I’ve got a torch on my phone-”

“No!” Eddie says quickly and then bites his lip. “I just… feel kind of stupid. I don’t want to be lit up for everyone else to see too.”

He thinks of the ridiculous looking silhouette he’d make if Richie put the torch on, but he knows he’s putting off something that might actually help.

“Sure, okay.”

Why does Richie sound… different? His voice is so quiet that he’s almost whispering – maybe that’s why? Which really doesn’t help with the knowing that he’s going to be helping him take off his shirt.

Eddie feels his breath hitch and he immediately just wants to bury himself back into his sleeping bag, stuck shirt or not.

There’s more rustling as Richie scoots closer, and Eddie tries not to flinch when he feels his hands touch where his face would be if it weren’t mostly covered by a half-removed polo shirt. Richie tugs, but it doesn’t budge. “You’re going to have to sit up, I think it’s caught on the zip.”

Eddie nods, even though he won’t be able to see it, and with Richie’s hands supporting his back he shimmies up and bends his whole sleeping bag at the waist. He can’t feel Richie’s hands through the cushioned material of the sleeping bag, but just the thought that he is so close – fucking _shirtless_ – in the dark, is not helping his pulse go down at all from _absolutely racing._

He feels like a teenager again.

Eddie’s arms are starting to hurt, from where they’re bent at an odd angle, but he can feel Richie trying to move the zip up and down from the outside of the sleeping bag. Finally, he makes a triumphant sound and tugs the shirt gently, pulling it off like a sock. Eddie sighs with delight as his arms come free from the shirt. The shirt that Richie is now holding. Richie whose knees are pressed against his waist; his own sleeping bag abandoned. Richie who is just… staring at him.

It’s so dark it’s hard to see clearly, but his eyes are shining with the small amount of light filtering through the fabric, and they’re wide and searching. Eddie says nothing, and wonders if he looks the same.

Richie eventually hands the shirt over with a shaky sounding, “Here,” and their hands brush when Eddie takes it off him.

They both gasp.

“Did you kiss me out of the Deadlights?” rushes out of Richie’s mouth almost as one word.

Eddie’s mind goes so blank that he doesn’t know how to respond. He can hear his own heartbeat in his ears.

_Be proud._ Stan said. _Be brave._

“Yes,” Eddie whispers.

Richie’s voice sounds watery when he says, “I thought… I thought I had dreamt it. Just part of the Deadlights dream, or something. I just thought…” Richie takes a deep breath and wipes his eyes beneath his glasses. “I’d wanted it to be true so badly.”

“You… what?” Eddie’s eyebrows hike up and he blinks several times, despite that not making him able to focus any better in the darkness. “No, I… I was the one that wanted to kiss _you.”_

Richie laughs a little and there’s another tiny rustle as he moves closer. “No way, I’ve been wanting to kiss you since we were like, thirteen or some shit.”

“Uh yeah, me too!”

Eddie joins in the laughter and his head feels like it’s spinning. _This can’t be real?_ he wonders, his heartbeat still loud as a drum in his ears.

Eddie reaches out a hand in the darkness and finds Richie’s. His touch is tentative and questioning, but Richie grips him there and intertwines their fingers together. His hand is so much bigger than his own. He’d been imagining what holding Richie’s hand would feel like since last year, but it feels so much better than he ever could have thought. His hands are so warm, and they squeeze his tightly – like a question – _is this okay?_

He wonders if he can feel Richie shivering from the cold, or because of something else.

“Richie, I-”

“Guys! Are you having a party in there or something? I just want to try and get some sleep over here!” Bev yells, though it’s muffled through all the fabric. “I know Richie can never stay still, but there’s been some hardcore rustling going on.”

Eddie feels Richie’s hand immediately go to withdraw and he grabs onto it with his other, keeping it there. He can hear Ben’s soft voice saying something to Bev, but he’s speaking too quietly for him to make out the words.

“Oh,” Bev squeaks in a bright tone, “never mind then! Carry on!”

“Bev!” Mike yells, “Don’t make them nervous!”

“Just keep it down, guys,” Stan says.

“What are we t-t-talking about?” Bill adds.

Eddie laughs and feels Richie relax as he joins in.

“Can we… talk… in the morning?” Richie asks.

They absolutely have so much to talk about and it makes Eddie smile so widely that he knows the dimples on his cheeks will be deep hollows, and he can vaguely feel the scar on his cheek tugging at the skin.

“Only if you’ve not frozen to death,” Eddie says, settling back down and pulling Richie’s sleeping bag towards himself.

“What are you doing?”

“Cuddling for warmth?” Eddie says it softly and his voice is raised like it’s a question, because some part of him still can’t believe this is really happening. Richie… wanted to kiss _him?_

Richie looks like he has absolutely no idea how to respond to him for long enough that Eddie starts getting worried about him. Then he shakes his head, takes off his glasses and helps to pull the abandoned sleeping bag right next to Eddie, climbing inside. “Eddie-Penguin-Spaghetti,” he says as they nestle into each other’s space. The sleeping bags rustle as they fit them together, spooning in a way that’s not too intimate because of the fabric between them, but reminds Eddie of falling asleep in each other’s arms in the hammock.

Something warm and _right_ settles into his chest, feeling Richie’s body sort-of pressed against his own.

They’ll talk tomorrow.

Hopefully, every tomorrow.

“Do _not_ call me that,” Eddie huffs with a smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Come join me on my tumblr [Izupie](https://izupie.tumblr.com/)~


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